Chapter 6

After dinner, which hadn't been quite the ordeal he'd expected after everyone had homed in on his insubstantial love life and Mike's shenanigans, Cyrus decided it was time to bite the bullet and call Milly.

However, where he should call from became a bit of a problem until he realized he was just making up more excuses to put it off. Calling from his room in the lodge wasn't optimal—someone might overhear the conversation, and he was done being the brunt of his co-workers' jokes. Also, the room was too small to roam around in, and he couldn't sit still, not when he needed to think. He tended to relax when he sat or lay on the bed, and he needed to be on his toes when he talked to her, so he decided to make the call from outside on the front porch.

When he arrived on the porch, he decided that was a terrible idea because when he walked down the steps and looked up, he realized he could see lights on in some of the rooms. Again, he wanted privacy, not for his fellow gossipy hunters to be hanging on every word he spoke through their windows.

Although, he did intend for the call to be brief. A quick in and out—where, when, and what he should bring in the way of fishing equipment? And no more. Still, he wanted utter privacy.

Maybe he should just limit the questions to just two: where and when. He'd bring a pole and some tackle and skip a conversation that could drag on for a few sentences longer while they discussed what lures would work best. As it was, he was starting to sweat, and he tugged at this collar.

"For fucks sake," he muttered, slipped his phone from his back jeans pocket, and pulled up his contacts list. "Are you a fucking man or a mouse?" he muttered to himself.

He found her name, Milly Bauer, and hovered his thumb over the number. He stepped off the porch and headed down the driveway, walking at a brisk pace, and then tapped the screen.

Two rings sounded, and he drew a deep breath, hoping she wasn't near her phone and that he could leave a message. A third ring, and he slowed his pace, ready to turn around and head back to the lodge, his obligation done. He'd called. She hadn't answered. He turned on a heel.

"Hello?"

Instantly, he felt like a frog had lodged itself in his throat, and he made a gargling sound.

"That you, Cyrus?"

He cleared his throat and turned to continue his trek down the driveway. "Yeah, it's me…Cyrus, I mean."

She chuckled. "You sound like you're choking to death. I swear, I'm not that scary to talk to."

How did she know she was the cause of his sudden panic? "I'm not scared."

"And it only took you three days to call me back. Or was I so far from your thoughts that Mike had to remind you to call me?"

Weirdly, she didn't sound like she cared which answer was correct. Her tone was airy and amused. He could imagine the curve of her mouth, the sparkle in her eyes, and the slight lift of one of her eyebrows…

"Well, which is it?" she asked softly.

God, that whisper sounded so fucking sexy. "Guess I was…nervous."

"You ever think that I might be, too?" Her voice was breathy, and from a random hoot from an owl, he surmised she must be outside, too. "You walking?" he asked.

"Why? Do I sound out of breath? Dammit."

His mouth stretched into a grin. "I had to come outside to call you. I think I'm already an eighth of a mile from the lodge."

She snickered softly, then laughed a little louder. "I think better when I walk. I hate to have phone conversations when I sit. Aren't we a pair?" There was a pause on the line, then… "You still want to go fishing on Sunday?"

He drew a deep breath. "I do," he answered honestly.

"You're in the old Happy Trails lodge, aren't you?"

"Damn unfortunate name," he muttered.

"I know, right? Sounds like something from an old musical western."

He was thinking about something more sexual in nature and related to male anatomy, but musicals worked for this conversation. "We do not break out in song."

She chuckled again. "Is 7:30 too early for me to swing by and pick you up?"

"That early enough to catch some fish?"

"We'll find some fish."

"Well, 7:30 is good for me then," he said. "I'll be waiting on the porch."

"Now, that wasn't so hard to do, was it? Talk to me, that is?"

"No, not at all. Not one bit painful. Have we graduated to the texting phase?"

"You are such a man." She sighed. "I guess I'd rather have a text than for you to ghost me for days the next time."

"Thank fuck," he said, feeling relieved.

"Want me to keep you company while you hike back to the lodge?"

"Sure." He turned and began walking back down the drive to the lodge.

"Have you had any adventures in bounty hunting since you caught Tate Smith?"

When he told the story about Raymundo's capture, this time he mimicked Mike's semi-falsetto and didn't mind so much when she laughed.

Bright and early on Sunday morning, Milly drove up the long drive to the former Happy Trails lodge. The drive was long and lined with Douglas firs. The road was paved, but any dividing line had long since faded, and the shoulders were crumbling. When she drove into the clearing where the lodge sat, she could just make out the barn in the background and some other outbuildings. The place wasn't in complete disrepair, but it did look like it needed a nail here and there and some fresh paint to spruce up the place.

She spotted Cyrus immediately. He was seated on the porch steps, with a fishing pole and a small tackle box next to him. The tackle box was a shiny red, so she felt a little flattered he'd gone to the bother to buy some new gear for their date. She'd spent time cleaning her tackle box out to get rid of dirt, bug bodies, and perhaps some fishy remnants in the trays. She and her brother shared the box, and he wasn't fussy about it.

Today, she was driving her GMC Canyon and pulling her boat behind it on a trailer. She'd checked the forecast, and other than a small chance of rain later in the day, the weather was just about perfect for a morning on the water.

Her brother Jake had been very curious about her fishing date when he'd seen the dishes she'd prepared the prior evening—a loaded baked potato salad, coleslaw, and baked beans. She'd portioned them out and left him a plate in the refrigerator so he wouldn't complain too much over the fact she was cooking for another man when she never had time to cook for him.

"You've got more free time than I have," she'd said, frowning when he'd complained anyway.

"That's women's work," he'd said, but his eyes had sparkled because he'd only said it to get a rise out of her. "So, you're going fishing…with a bounty hunter. That's interesting as hell. Who's this guy?"

"His name is Cyrus Walsh, and like I already told you, we met when he was tracking a guy I was about to ticket for illegally fishing and camping in the park."

"Maybe I should run a background check, just to make sure he doesn't have any skeletons in his closet you should know about."

She'd rolled her eyes. "I already did."

Jake had laughed, and his grin had stretched wide. "That's my girl."

"He was operating inside the park. You know my boss would've wanted me to make sure his business there was legit. Cyrus has no rap sheet. And I think he's probably ex-military."

"Oh?"

She'd shrugged. "The way he carries himself. His dad was in the Army. Plus, he's had driver's licenses issued as an adult in places where large Army posts are."

"You just be careful."

"Aren't I always?" she'd said, lifting one eyebrow to tell him it was time to get his nose out of her business.

Cyrus approached her truck before she had it in park. He ducked to glance into her window. "Mornin'."

"Morning back at you," she said and smiled. She wasn't sure why, but he was so damn funny to her, although she was pretty sure he wouldn't be pleased she thought so. It was just that his frowns didn't always mean he was unhappy or angry. Often, when he looked at her, she got the feeling he was just trying to figure her out. His gruff tone and terse sentences weren't his being rude. He was just a man who got straight to the point, and perversely, she found that sexy as hell.

He laid his pole in the truck bed beside hers and did the same with his shiny new tackle box.

When he climbed into the cab, he buckled his seatbelt and then kept his gaze focused forward through the windshield.

"It's only about twenty minutes to the lake," she said, feeling suddenly breathless, like he'd consumed all the oxygen in the truck.

"That's good."

Did he mean "that's good" because they wouldn't be cooped up long inside the same confined space? Or was it good because he was eager to fish?

Figuring him out was a challenge she was eager to undertake. Why that was, she didn't want to ponder, but the idea of it excited her. The men she'd dated sporadically since high school hadn't excited her. Not one little bit. Which had left her with a pesky problem if she ever managed to get the bounty hunter sitting beside her into bed.

After putting their poles, tackle boxes, and her cooler onto the floor of her boat, Milly unhooked the transom straps from the back of the boat and checked the drain plug. Then, she backed the trailer down the concrete ramp into the water and paused while the boat winch was still above the water. She watched as Cyrus disconnected the winch strap, climbed into the boat, and then waited for Milly to continue backing down the ramp until the boat floated off the trailer. He gave her a wave, and she pulled forward and parked the truck.

She jogged back to the ramp and waded in, not minding that her flip-flops and the edge of her shorts got wet while she climbed in the boat. Once seated in the backseat, she started the motor, and they headed off.

The air was cool, as was the water, but the sun climbing in the sky would take care of that problem soon enough. She wasn't worried, not when she was so exhilarated. Milly hadn't been out on the water since the previous fall, and she was looking forward to having company.

Cyrus was faced forward in his seat, his head tilted back. From his relaxed shoulders, she could tell he was simply enjoying the breeze in his face and the gentle roll of the waves.

She drove for about fifteen minutes, passing buffalo resting near the banks and elk grazing in grassy areas, until she spotted one of her favorite places to fish. Trees encroached right up to the water's edge, and a few fallen branches lay half on and off the bank to form a shadowy refuge for smaller fish beneath the surface. Larger fish sat further off the bank, waiting to pick off their smaller prey when they ventured out of their shelters.

About twenty feet from the bank, she lowered her anchor over the side until she felt it hit the bottom. "We're all set," she said quietly.

Cyrus swiveled his chair to face hers, then bent to pick up his pole. They mirrored each other's actions, checking their reels. She held up a couple of lures on her open palm. "I've had good luck with these soft lures," she said. "They cast well and sink slowly." She held up one to show him the weight beneath the polymer fish. "I also have some live worms I picked up this morning from the bait shop before I headed to your place."

He glanced down at the Chinese takeout box filled with dirt and worms. "I'll try one of your lures first."

She smiled and handed him one, then they both attached their lures and turned their seats so they wouldn't be casting over each other's lines. They spent the next half hour casting and slowly reeling in their lures.

Cyrus got the first bite. "I think I've got something."

She quickly reeled her line in, dropped her pole on the floor of the boat, and picked up her net. He skillfully reeled and relaxed, letting the fish tire itself out until he'd worked it close enough to the boat that she could reach down and scoop it into the net.

She placed it on the floor of the boat as they both bent and examined his catch.

"It's over a pound," he said.

"I think it's darn close to two," she said, admiring the golden, dark-speckled fish with hints of pink on its sides. "If we can get one more like that, we'll have enough to fry up."

It took another hour before Milly landed her own fish, this one slightly smaller than his, but she was grinning just the same.

"That was fun," he said.

"If I wasn't so hungry, I'd say we could keep fishing, but I don't have room in my freezer at home, and I'm not much into catch and release—it seems like a waste of time."

He chuckled. "My belly's growling, too. You have a spot where we can clean these and fry them up?"

"There are some small docks where we can park the boat with grills right near the shore."

Thirty minutes later, they popped the tabs on two cold beers and sat on picnic benches across from each other as they waited for the fish to fry atop a grill in the cast iron skillet she'd packed. Other than a family enjoying a picnic at the far end of the picnic area, they were alone.

"Good Lord, ain't this the life?" Cyrus said, squinting up at the sun and then bringing his gaze back to her.

She stood and used a fork to turn a filet. "I can't think of a more perfect end to the week I've had."

"Was it that bad?"

"Well, other than a rather fun interaction with a bear," she said, giving him a wink, "I spent most of my time trying to keep visitors from petting buffalo or baiting bears with food to take selfies with them." She wrinkled her nose. "You can tell them to keep their distance when they roll into the park, but I swear they think that advice is for everyone else."

She flipped the rest of the filets and then made a shallow slice into one. "Guess we should go ahead and fill our plates with the side dishes," she said. "These are almost ready."

He began pulling plastic containers from the cooler. "Are you kidding me?" he said, peeling back the cover of the baked beans and leaning down to sniff it. "You make this?"

"I made all of it—from scratch. Wait until you taste my loaded baked potato salad. Jake says it's to die for."

His eyebrows rose. "Who's Jake?"

"My brother," she said, wondering if she'd heard a bit of an edge to his voice when he'd said his name. Could he have been jealous?

He opened the other two containers and unwrapped the silverware she'd brought. Together, they filled their plates, passing the dishes back and forth. When they both rose to approach the grill, the smell of the fish frying had her groaning. They had two filets each, although she made sure to take the smaller ones for herself.

When they sat, they were both silent for several minutes as they ate.

She laughed when she looked up and saw that half of his plate was already gone. "You better finish up the sides."

A flush of red washed across his cheeks. "You take what you want first."

"I have too much already. Go ahead," she said. "I'm not taking any of it home. It'll spoil before I get it back there."

Apparently, he didn't have to be told twice. He upended the containers over his plate. "That baked potato salad…" He shook his head and quickly took another bite.

"I told you," she said proudly. She wasn't Suzy Homemaker, but her mother had taught her and her brother how to take care of themselves—how to cook, how to do their own laundry—while their dad had made sure they both knew how to run a lawnmower and weed eater and which end of a hammer to use.

After she'd finished her plate and he was approaching the end of his feast, he glanced up at her. "I guess I owe you."

She tilted her head. "Owe me? For what?"

"This," he said, waving a hand around to encompass the table. "For today. You went all out."

"I enjoyed it, too," she said, wondering where this was leading and hoping he was about to ask her out again.

"Yeah, well," he paused to clear his throat, "I was wondering…if you would like to go out? To dinner, I mean. My treat. Something you won't have to cook."

She wrinkled her nose, feeling a grin start to stretch her mouth. She shook her head as another of his sexy frowns dented his forehead. "Truthfully, the thought of getting dressed up to eat somewhere with a bunch of people around me I don't know doesn't appeal. But I have another idea."

His gaze locked with hers, and a slight smile lifted one corner of his mouth. "What do you have in mind?"

"My brother's working the night shift at the PD for the next couple of weeks. I have the house to myself four nights a week. How about we make dinner together? Steaks and baked potatoes on the grill in the backyard. You can bring the meat, and I'll take care of the rest…?"

"Just you and me…?"

She wondered at the sudden sharpening of his gaze and lifted her shoulders. "We can have our meal and then see where the evening goes. If you like, we can watch a movie—but no rom-coms, please."

He blinked. "I like action and some horror."

"Action is my favorite. Have you seen the latest Jason Statham movie?"

He shook his head.

"Well, I know your schedule is always dicey," she said, "but you get back to work tomorrow and check your calendar. I'll check in with my brother to make sure when he'll be out of the way, and we can set our plans." She grinned as his frown eased. "I won't even mind if you text me the details."